Besos
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: The Mediterraneans - Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Spain, and the Italies - are having a bonfire party. But even when the other guests go home, the party isn't over for Spain and Romano!


**Any suggestions on my Turkey and Egypt? Its the first time with the both of them...**

**The song is "Besos", by El Canto Del Loco. I'd love it if you listened to it!**

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Italy was almost asleep on the blanket – he had been having too much fun playing in the water at the beach to stop for a siesta, and now that the setting sun was bronzing sand and skin, he was starting to feel the heaviness of the day.

Most of the other nations, crowded around the driftwood bonfire, were floating in various states of sated sleepiness as well. Greece was conked out next to Italy, had been all day. Turkey was next to him, drinking Raki straight from the bottle. Egypt was laying on his shoulder, his kaffiyeh abandoned on the sand somewhere.

Romano was on Italy's other side. He had been stubborn (and tired) enough for a siesta earlier that afternoon and was now in fine fighting form, unlike his brother. Or _would_ have been in fine fighting form, had he not looks so unwillingly happy. Italy liked to see that. Romano was currently perched on Spain's lap, caught between a need to protest and the feeling of utter contentment. Spain had his arms around him, tuning a guitar that rested across Romano's knees.

"Ve~... we should make this a tradition," Italy announced, flopping against Greece's prostrate bulk. The man stirred a little, purring like a cat. Italy laughed. "I hang out with mio fratello a lot," he admitted, "But the rest of us – us Mediterraneans – don't always get to have fun together."

"If you count 'fun' as sand in your crack and an awkward tan-line," Turkey griped. He had forgotten to take off his mask for the better part of the day, and was only sunburnt along his jaw as a result.

Egypt slowly stirred himself, lifting his head sluggishly and twisting to stare balefully inot Turkey's eyes.

"Be. Nice." Egypt cautioned him. Turkey stuck out his tongue. They both smiled.

"I think that 'fun' is being with the ones that you love!" announced Italy. "Right?"

"Right…" acknowledged Greece without opening his eyes.

"Hey, brat, shouldn't you be asleep? Its more peaceful when you're quiet," Turkey mocked with little fire.

"Shouldn't… you be… dead? It would be … peaceful, then, too…" Greece returned pleasantly. Egypt laughed.

"Hey, Lovi, what should I play?" Spain asked, breathing in 'Romano's ear. Romano shivered and tried to shy away, but tangled as he was in the Spaniard's limbs, he didn't get far.

"I don't know," he snapped, ending up with his back tight against Spain's shoulder. "It's your fucking guitar."

Turkey laughed. "Damn, I like ya, kid. You've got quite a mouth on ya."

Spain smiled at the Turk, but there was a faint flash of South-American gold fever behind his eyes. "Yes, he does have quite a mouth. One that belongs to me." Demonstrating this, he leaned in to kiss Romano sloppily. Romano screeched, turning red and, finally breaking out of Spain's arms, backed up, cussing in Italian, until he tripped over Greece and went sprawling into the sand.

Egypt and the northern half of Italy laughed. Before the southern half could get to his feet and begin to crack skulls, Spain picked out a few chords on his guitar, talking over the notes.

"I have a good song! I learned it from a band in Madrid," he announced.

"Oh, fuck no –"

Greece turned over in his sleep and pinned Romano with a heavy arm, temporarily silencing him.

"It's called 'Besos'," Spain continued cheerfully, either ignoring or simply not noticing his boyfriend's plight. "It means –"

"Makin' out!" announced Turkey, who promptly turned to Egypt and began to demonstrate. Egypt kissed back, amused, until Spain began to sing.

_"Hey, atiende, por qué  
has salido a la calle tú tan fresco.  
Y dime por qué  
te has tirado tres hor__as en el espejo…"_

"Ve, it's pretty!" Italy exclaimed while Spain played. "Come on, fratello, dance with me~"

Romano, who was covered in sand and had just managed to disentangle himself from Greece (who was still asleep, or at least pretending to be), quirked an annoyed eyebrow at his brother.

"No. Way. In. – Feli!"

Italy didn't wait for his brother to finish his denial, pulling him to his feet with a strength only shown when pasta was in danger. He began to spin in a circle, gripping his brother's wrists.

_"Y eso es lo que quiero, besos.  
Que todas las mañanas me despierten de esos,  
que sea por la tarde y siga habiendo besos."_

Spain laughed as he sang. Egypt poured the rest of Turkey's Raki into the fire, filling the bottle with a little sand and shaking it, shyly, in time to the music. Despite initial disappointment at the loss of his alcohol, Turkey thought that Egypt looked incredibly childlike that way. It made the Turk smile.

Romano, realizing that he wasn't getting out of this (and maybe not wanting to), broke away from his brother and began to dance on his own. The song was something stupid and shallow and pop-y, but every time Romano heard Spain's stupid, familiar, exotic language it reminded him of history and barefoot revelry around a fire in the day of his grandfather. Romano closed his eyes and danced – badly and clumsily – but with stamping and gyration and something that was distinctly tribal.

He also made sure to shake his ass in Spain's face. He grinned when the man's voice stumbled on the words in response.

Italy, delighted, clapped his hands and began to spin happily. Turkey gave up attempting to remain aloof, stood, and grabbed Italy, spinning along with him. Greece smiled, peeking an eye open.

_"Y párate a ver,  
que los que ya te quieren no miran eso.  
__Sólo quieren ver ese guiño de ojos  
sin complejos..."_

The song ended, and the notes floated away on the spitting fire-embers. Italy and Turkey flopped happily in the sand. Spain's guitar was discarded in favor of jumping Romano. Egypt poured the sand out of his bottle, shivering a little.

"Cold?" Turkey asked, floundering to sit up. His had sand stuck throughout his curly hair.

"A bit," Egypt admitted.

"Well…" Turkey stood and stretched. "I think it's about time for us to head out, anyway. We got an early flight to catch tomorrow morning, ya know."

"Bastard, get the fuck off of me!" Romano yelled, ignoring Turkey in favor of the nation pinning him to the ground.

Spain put a hand over his mouth, turning to Turkey. "It really was nice to see you two. I had fun."

"I must… go… as well…" Greece mumbled, shaking his head and climbing slowly to his feet. Sand sloughed off of him as if he were a piece of stone, excavated. "These two are… giving me a … ride…"

Italy laughed tiredly. "I guess that the party is over. Doitsu expects me home anyway. He always worries when I'm out late."

Romano bit Spain's hand, and he withdrew it with a shine, sucking on the wound. "Hear that, tomato bastard? Party's over, so let me up!"

Turkey and Egypt were already gone, over the dune that obscured the view of the parking lot, and Greece was disappearing as well. Italy was well on his way, turning and waving before he, too, was out of sight.

"Party's over for them," Spain said mischievously, eyes glinting with something decidedly exciting - but perhaps that was just the firelight. He hadn't gotten off of Romano. "We still have to clean up, and put out the fire…"

"So let me go and we'll fucking pack up!" Romano shouted, hitting Spain's chest (but not too hard) with a closed fist.

He found himself with his hands pinned very quickly.

"I don't want to…" whined Spain softly, with a smile and a warm press of lips. And, damnit, if Romano couldn't think of anything to say after that.

There were worse things than making out with your (hot, Spanish) boyfriend on the beach near a bonfire, Romano decided. Though it wasn't like he'd been wanting to do it all day or anything, especially when said (hot, Spanish) boyfriend was wearing only low-slung swim trunks and was still dripping sea water from dark hair and tan, smooth skin and looking absolutely lickable.

What. The. Fuck.

Romano did not just think the word "lickable".

But it was sort of on his mind, considering all the sinful things that the Spaniard was doing with his tongue right about now…

"H-hands out of my pants!" Romano snapped – or tried to. His voice was shaking horribly and he may or may not have been whining and bucking into Spain's hand. He could feel the smirk against his ear as Spain whispered against his skin.

"You don't really mean that," he said, lowly. Romano tired his best to suppress his shiver and stop. Fucking. Rocking. Against. Spain. He succeeded in neither.

"I'm not letting you fuck me into the sand!" Romano protested. "If I get sand … in… there, it will hurt!"

There wasn't a verbal reply, but in short order, Romano found himself flipped onto his knees, ass in the air and pants around his knees. He vaguely wished he had put on a shirt after swimming. He was completely bare and on a public beach, no less!

"Spagna? Che cazzo – vaffanculo – bastardo! What do you think that you're –" Romano's voice had gone up an octave as he was cursing, then petered out into a stifled half-moan as Spain brushed one hand over his nipples, the other across Romano's erection – shit, though, he was not enjoying it, not at all! Especially not as he felt an insistent, powerful warmth covering his back, breathing in his ear.

"Better?" Spain whispered.

"N-no –" Romano didn't mean that. Spain knew it, too.

Spain was licking a trail up his spine, and Romano shuddered beneath him, letting out a frustrated sort of whine as the warmth on his back drew away.

"Spain…" Romano breathed, slowly more docile, focusing less on fighting the other man and more on fighting his arms so that they would not give out and send him sprawling onto the sand. He liked it when Spain touched him – he liked when they were all tangled together like this. But admitting that was not high on his list of priorities, at the moment. Staying upright was, though.

_"__Shh, _cariño, and let me take care of you, si?" asked Spain with a quirk of his voice that was less caring - although that was there, too, - and more of a promise of things to come. Romano shivered and growled in the back of his throat.

"J-just… affrettatevi!" Romano ordered, forcing the curse out, powerfully, knowing that shouting would be the only way to keep his voice from trembling.

He was pretty sure that Spain knew it, too. The man had found lube _somewhere_ – Romano would be willing to bet he'd packed it that morning with the express purpose of screwing him on the beach – and was pouring it onto his fingers. Spain put two cold, slick fingers up to the cleft of Romano's ass, circling the hole. Romano clenched his teeth, determined not to make a sound that would give him away, but unable to stop his hips from possibly twisting back, following the cool of the lube and the heat of Spain's body.

He was stopped by a firm hand on his hips.

"Mm… now, Lovi, I'm not sure, but I thought that you were unwilling to let me make love to you here…" Spain smirked. Romano groaned, in a way that he hoped was more frustrated than needy but he wasn't really sure he had succeeded in that.

"I told you t-to hurry up!" Romano ordered.

At that cue, Spain slid a single finger into the Italian. Romano let out a long sound of satisfaction as it began to slowly work its way around inside him. But, damnit, it wasn't _enough_ –

"Eager, are we?" teased Spain. "But you're so quiet."

No fucking _duh_ he was quiet – any sound he made would make him sound like a total fucking pansy and just prove to Spain that he had _won_ and his voice would probably be all stuttering and it was just _wrong_ to enjoy having a man's finger up his ass but Spain was so _warm –_

A sharp nip was placed on his hips. "Ngh…" Romano groaned, biting his lip. The finger inside him quirked, rubbing against his insides and digging into the smooth muscle there.

"Don't hold back, Lovi~" Spain ordered, obviously enjoying his position of power. Sadistic bastard. "The more you scream for me, the more you'll get. This isn't enough for you, is it?"

"Like hell I'll – annh..." Romano let out an embarrassing, high-pitched whine as Spain shoved another finger into him, beginning to scissor into Romano's passage. He felt Spain nuzzle his lower back, and he trembled at the touch. Already, he was so fucking hard and Spain hadn't even _touched_ him there, yet.

"Lovi, I want you to say my name."

It sounded like an order. Romano bit his lip, half-stifling another embarrassing noise that Spain drew from him.

"I'm not going to – b-bastard…" Romano spat, shivering as Spain withdrew his fingers. He felt suddenly empty, he felt the need to be _filled_, he just wanted to feel all of the love and heat and connection that Spain meant to him, that Spain always managed to fill him with when they were… like this.

And his self-control was really starting to be slashed to pieces.

Even more so as Spain teasingly lined his own hot, pulsing length against Romano's ass, rubbing against him. "Lovi, I could come just like this," he told him. "I could _grind_ against you all night but you can't touch yourself, can you?" he asked. "After all, your hands are all sandy, aren't they?"

Romano hung his head, whining lowly. "S-stop, please stop teasing. _Please…_" he mumbled into the air, half hoping he wouldn't be heard, half hoping that he would.

Spain always had a way of catching what Romano wanted to tell him. Without another word, he acquiesced and slid himself inside Romano, faster, maybe then was necessary, and Romano finally let himself cry out, just once – "Antonio -!"

It went quickly after that – Spain gasped at the way his name sounded on Romano's lips, un-burdened by curses or even the last vestiges of restraint, twisted with desire. He rolled his hips, moving and sliding slightly against Romano's sweet-spot, unable to forgo teasing completely.

"Antonio, please…" Romano whimpered. "Faster…"

Spain grinned, obeying, always obedient, in the end. With the other hand, he reached out to stroke Romano's own neglected length. Romano's arms, straining the entire time, shuddered and threatened to give out. Spain slipped in and out of him, cheekily forgoing a condom, bastard always did when he could, but – it just felt so good. No matter what the circumstances, at the moment when he and Spain connected, Romano felt as if they were the only people in the world. Somehow, the bastard always made him feel loved.

"Antonio!" he cried out, the pressure building inside him. Spain groaned every time Romano said his name, going harder and deeper.

"Mio corazon…" Spain murmured distractedly against Romano's skin, bending over him from his position on his knees. "Mi vida…"

Somewhere between nonsense Spanish endearments and the pounding of bodies melding and the desire sparking between the two of them and the waves, beating like hearts, Romano lost his last vestiges of control and came with a long cry, his body oversensitized and raw. The friction still came, and he let out a whine through his orgasmic haze; it hurt but he also wanted it –

"Lovino!" Spain grunted, and he spilled warmth inside Romano's passage.

Fucking bastard and his aversion to condoms…

A few moments later, Romano found himself sprawled on slightly sticky, slightly sandy towels near a dying fire, not sure how he got there from his position falling apart on his knees mere heartbeats before. Spain had his face buried in his chest, murmuring slurs of things against his skin. They really ought to be packing up. Romano didn't move.

"_Sólo quieren ver ese guiño de ojos sin complejos..." _Spain hummed against Romano.

Romano liked the sound of his voice, even when he was singing. Especially when he was singing. Not as if he'd ever tell the bastard that.


End file.
